William Arthur Weasley (bp_bill) wrote in breaking_point, @ 2010-08-22 22:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | *complete, 2025 08, character: bill weasley, character: charlie weasley |
RP: Bill and Charlie
Who:Bill and Charlie
Where:Hogwarts, Bill's rooms
When: August 22
Summary:Bill is trying to come to terms with the loss of his family when Charlie comes to see him
He was supposed to get up. He'd been supposing to get up for quite some time, but still he sat in the same sofa that he'd sat in when Moody told him Louis was dead. Louis. His son. His beautiful baby boy, who was growing into an adult but whom he now saw as a child every time he closed his eyes.
Louis at eleven, excited to get his first wand.
Louis at eight, learning how to fly and grinning at him.
Louis at five, running towards him as he returns from work.
Louis at three crying over a scraped knee.
Louis at one running wobbly across the lawn with an expression of pure bliss on his face at the simple action.
He didn't see the adult Louis. The son who'd asked to be in the order. The prefect or Head boy. No he saw his son as he'd been when he was younger - and he couldn't even help himself. He couldn't even explain it, but somehow it made everything worse. His son was dead and he couldn't even think of him as the young man he'd turned into, but only as the child he'd been. What kind of father was he?
And as if it wasn't enough there was the gnawing question, the guilt. If they hadn't stirred the dragons up, if they hadn't gone to the camp, would Louis still be alive? He tried not to think it, tried to remember Charlie saying the dragons were fine, but that memory was fading quickly. Like everything else.
He knew he was supposed to open up the labs at nine, but he wasn't sure if that had passed or if it was coming. Time had been fluent since last night. First Ginny, then Louis. He'd stopped by to see Ginny last night, before finding out about Louis, but he hadn't seen his son, hadn't left his room or his spot at the sofa since he'd been told. It was like some horrible nightmare he couldn't wake up from. He would believe it to be if it wasn't for the pain. The very physical pain that was eating through his entire heart, leaving nothing behind but a giant void.
In his mind the images of Louis was mingled with images of Fleur, of Ginny, of his mother, his father... Fleur giving him a tired smile as she held Louis for the first time. Fleur tortured and raped. Louis on his broom happy. Louis dead. Ginny dead on a bed, her grin as he taught her the bat-bogey-hex. Images, one morphing into each other until only Louis' face was left, until his head spun and he desperately wished for a whiskey, or ten.
At least Dom and Vic are alive, he thought to himself, trying to hold onto something that would keep him grounded when he felt like collapsing from the pain. It didn't stop it, didn't change it, didn't make things better. He wasn't sure how many hours that had passed, or how he'd be able to pick himself up again. He really should get up, move, do something other than sit here. And yet he didn't move an inch.